‘I think he said that Father Gormán cried out — “Heaven will strike you dead for that blow” — or something like that.’
‘Ah,
Clídna shook her head.
‘Well, I shall not implicate you in this. Tell me, though,’ Fidelma smiled briefly, ‘is Agdae a good landlord?’
‘No better or worse than any other man,’ Clídna was self-consciously offhand.
‘But you like him more than any other man?’
‘It is nice to dream beyond one’s station in life,’ she admitted.
‘What can you tell me about Muadnat?’
‘Hot-headed. He was always used to his own way.’
‘Did Muadnat and Agdae both frequent your … your house?’
Clídna laughed humorously.
‘They and half of Araglin. I am not ashamed. It is what I do.’
‘Did you ever hear either of them speak about a mine?’
‘A mine? Do you mean a mine here in Araglin?’
‘Yes. Or in the Black Marsh, on Muadnat’s land, for example.’
‘No. Nor anywhere else in this land.’
Fidelma was disappointed.
Clídna was rising from her seat when she suddenly turned round, frowning.
‘Mind you … it may be nothing …’
Fidelma waited expectantly.
‘Menma said something once.’
Fidelma was patient but her mind fully alert at the mention of the red-haired man.
‘Menma said something about a man who found a rock which would make him rich.’
‘What?’
‘I did not understand then neither do I understand now, sister. Menma is often here and often drunk. Some weeks ago he was talking in his cups about extracting riches from the earth. I had no idea of what he was talking about. Then he said something about a man knowing the secret of making rock turn to wealth and wealth buying more power than even Eber could imagine.’
‘Did he mention who this man was?’
‘It was a name like Mór … Mór something.’
‘Morna?’ queried Fidelma.
‘I think so. Now that you have mentioned mines. Don’t the rocks yield up precious metals?’
‘Have you heard any other talk? Did Muadnat ever say anything?’
‘Nothing. One interesting thing, though, during this same period Menma and Muadnat appeared to become close friends. Muadnat had never been friendly with the stableman before. It was curious. I know because Agdae once complained to me that Muadnat and Menma often went hunting in the hills and he felt excluded.’
Slowly, thoughtfully, Fidelma rose from her seat.
‘I am most grateful for all the information you have given me, Clídna. You have been of much help to me.’
Clídna grimaced sceptically.
‘I cannot see how, sister.’
Fidelma handed her back the empty pottery mug.
‘I thank you for your hospitality. May you be happy in your life.’
Fidelma mounted her horse and headed towards the valley of the Black Marsh, deep in thought.
Chapter Eighteen
Her first plan had been to set out in search of Dubán to see if he had discovered where Dignait might have fled to. But she was troubled. Even though Clídna had told her that there were others in Araglin whom she would suspect of murder before the burly warrior, Fidelma was suspicious. If he hated Eber, why had Dubán returned to Araglin and taken service with him? And if he loved Crón, the death of Eber was of benefit to them both. She had already become suspicious of the pair of them because of the lies that they had told her. She found herself unconsciously guiding her horse directly over the hills towards the mine.
The journey was tedious for several times did Fidelma think it was better to hide herself from the occasional traveller, or to give buildings a wide berth, rather than allow herself to be observed. She had a strong feeling that things were beginning to draw together like the strands of a spider’s web, closer and closer to the centre where the shadowy figure of one great manipulator sat, tugging on the various threads.
Fidelma reached the stretch of forest in which she and Eadulf had discovered the cave entrance and seen Menma emerging from it. She wondered how close she could get without being spotted, how many workers were there around the cave? But she knew, instinctively, that the cave was going to provide her with one of the keys to unlock this curious mystery.
Her senses sharpened as she rode through the forest, through sombre oaks whose catkins were yellowing, inconsequentially noticing the white and red, and even pink flowers of the sturdy hawthorns, and the yews which had just ceased flowering. All thebeeches stood out with their leaves a brilliant green. It seemed so peaceful, so idyllic. It was hard to imagine that mayhem and death lurked in this pleasant land.
Her horse suddenly shied nervously and, from nearby, came the curious high-pitched bark of a fox in search of its prey.
It was wise to remember that even in an idyllic setting such as this there were also predators searching for their weak victims.
She drew near the spot where she and Eadulf had previously tethered their horses and decided it would be best to repeat the exercise and approach on foot. It was just as well for as she reached the edge of the woods she heard the sound of hooves and slunk down into the undergrowth. Not far away, along the trail, a horse galloped by from the direction of the glade. Fidelma saw a slight figure crouched low over its neck, a bright parti-coloured cloak flying in the wind. Then the horse and rider were gone. Fidelma paused a moment. She thought she suddenly heard a cry from the glade and turned, moving carefully towards it. Soon she was staring across into the open glade against the side of the hill, where the cave entrance was. Two horses were standing patiently tethered there. She crouched low behind the cover of the bushes.
There was no sign of the heavy wagon which had been there previously and the fire was now a charred, blackened patch, although the tools were still stacked nearby. She listened carefully but it was quiet save the trill of bird songs arising from the forest and the gentle whisper of a breeze against the mountain slopes. Fidelma examined the horses carefully. They were saddled and were certainly not farm horses, more the sort of beasts that warriors would ride. One of them was particularly familiar and she rebuked her memory that she could not recall where she had seen it and who was riding it.
She was about to rise and move nearer the cave when it happened so fast that she could scarcely draw breath before it was all over.
One moment she was trying to recall why the horses were sofamiliar and where she had seen them before and then the next she was pole-axed by a curious wailing scream. Her eyes darted towards the cave mouth. A dishevelled figure appeared. It paused for a moment, gave a sobbing gulp of breath and began to run towards the horses.
It was the red-haired Menma. The stableman had almost made it to his horse when a second figure appeared at the cave mouth. It strode leisurely from the dark with a bow and an arrow strung to it.
‘Menma!’
The voice was low but the intensity carried across the glade.
The man spun round. Even from this distance, Fidelma saw the terror on his face.
‘For the love of God!’ he almost jabbered. ‘I can pay you! I can …’
